


not exactly strawberries and whipped cream

by healingmirth



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/healingmirth/pseuds/healingmirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Or <strong>maybe</strong> he’d been thinking about this last night after Will fell asleep, about how they had the whole day free with fuck-all to do.  Maybe he’d been thinking about it all week.</i></p><p>Spoiler alert: no one gets laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not exactly strawberries and whipped cream

**Author's Note:**

> The author does not recommend the actions described in this story as either safe or good relationship choices. Luckily, the characters are imaginary, so the author can decide that it works out okay for them.

Will’s first fully-formed thought after he wakes up is that his thighs are sore, and it’s kind of nice. He stretches first one leg and then the other, toes pointed down towards the foot of the bed to feel the pull in his quads, and the shift of his hips makes something in his groin twinge, so he does it again, and then he gets distracted by the way the brushed softness of the sheet feels against his dick. He keeps his eyes closed because it's the one day a week when it absolutely doesn't matter what time it is. With his eyes shut, he can imagine anything he likes, like maybe the slow tease is rubbing off against one of Tunny's old t-shirts.

He leaves his head tipped to the side, relaxed, resting on his arm; his fingers are a little tingly, and all the little bits of sensation rolling in through aches and shivers are making him aware in ways he usually doesn't bother with. It's like he can imagine all the ways his body's holding itself together inside his skin, like it's scientific, like the illustrations of muscle and bone that are pretty much all be remembers from Bio in high school. It's not like he does yoga or meditates or any of that shit that's supposed to get you in tune with your being or whatever. Chi. That might be a thing.

It's nice, is all. Whether he's just another animal or being one with the universe, the feeling rolling through him makes him think about being at the beach, back when they lived anywhere near a beach worth the name. When he tenses his muscles up one leg and down the other, the motion reminds him a little of floating on waves. Everything he does feels fucking fantastic, and all the better for knowing it’s Saturday morning, and he can just stay in bed all fucking day if he wants.

**

The second thought though, that's where it gets weird. That second thought that has anything to do with reality strikes when he half-consciously goes to move his right hand to his balls. That doesn't work so well because his wrists are bound to each other. That’s what finally gets him to open his eyes. His next thought, beyond _what the fuck?_ is that he’s also tied to the headboard. He finds that out when his reflexive jerk at finding his arms bound pulls him up short. And then, at least for a few seconds, he's as fucking wide awake as he gets.

Whatever panicked thought might have followed down that line is cut off by the sight of Tunny, leaning back against the dresser in a pair of shorts (his own) and a long-sleeved t-shirt (Will’s). There’s a McDonald’s bag sitting next to him, and that's enough of a distraction for Will from whateverthefuck is going on that he pulls in a deep breath through his nose. Sausage McMuffins, and probably a couple cups of coffee hiding behind Tunny’s back. His stomach growls, and Tunny laughs at him.

“Hungry?” he asks, and Will glares at him in response. It’s his best glare, the “I’m gonna fuck you up when I get out of this,” glare, but Will hasn’t been able to take Tunny in a fair fight since they were fifteen. They both know it, and it’s unlikely that it’s going to change today.

This idea, that it takes almost no effort for Tunny to push him around, is what brings Will’s thoughts back to the fact that someone, that presumably Tunny, has tied him to the bed. Will’s wrists are crossed above his head, and whatever is binding them is wrapped around his forearms so that each hand could be gripping the opposite arm. It’s not all that tight to begin with, and there's a little give when he flexes. He could probably get out of it without having to be Houdini or whatever. It was actually a pretty comfortable position, right up until he started thinking about the fact that he was stuck in it. Even though he’s not usually a contrary person, there’s a little something about being tied up that makes him want to move, to get out of it, even if it doesn't hurt, if he's not, like, fucking scared about it.

Tunny's watching him, and his face isn't giving anything away that Will hasn't seen there every day this week. He's got pretty much the same expression that he does when they're nose to nose, panting and sweaty, like he's serious about it, committed, right up until Will sticks his tongue out or lands a raspberry on his cheek. But this is nothing like Tunny's weight holding him down when they fuck. That's not... that's not a _thing_ , that's just that Tunny's still stronger than Will, probably always will be, so if someone's going to be propped up on top, it ought to be him. And usually Tunny starts out braced up on his elbows, or if he feels like showing off and being a massive cocktease, he does presses over Will. But it always ends up with Will struggling for breath, just a little, between exertion and Tunny's chest pressed down against his, or Tunny sitting on his hips, or his stomach, holding Will's wrists against the mattress, fucking Will's mouth with his tongue.

Okay. Maybe it is a little like Tunny's weight holding him down when they fuck, and now there's a little bit of his brain going in a loop, wondering if maybe he should have noticed that something like this was coming.

***

Of course the bigger something, like 98% of him, is okay with lying there and waiting to see what Tunny’s got to offer, because it’s still Saturday morning, Will’s still naked and, yup, still horny, and if the past few nights are anything to go by, there’s a good chance that this could be awesome instead of awful.

Tunny's not moving, doesn't say anything else. He's just standing there watching Will, and every few seconds he breaks eye-contact to look down to where Will's still-interested dick is poking up at the sheet. It's equal parts hot to be watched and worrying that Tunny's not moving any closer or taking off his clothes, but it's not like Will's big brain is getting the deciding vote in anything here. His dick is totally cool with a little bit of showing off, and Will catches a fold in the sheet with his toes and pulls until he can feel the slightly cooler air in the room against his belly. The only change in Tunny's expression is a hint of a smile around his eyes, so Will pulls out the big guns, bending his knees so that he can to spread his thighs in what has got to be so, so obviously a display, pushing until he almost can't take the strain in his muscles. Tunny licks his lips, and Will closes his eyes, and lets his head drop back between his arms, breathes out the noises that he knows slip out when he's being fucked, those half-formed grunts that catch in his throat.

Even though grinding up into empty space is nothing like the feeling of testing himself against Tunny, he's doing a pretty good job of pushing his body to the limits of what it'll tolerate. If he gets a little lost in his head while he's doing it, that's okay, too. At least it keeps him from feeling ridiculous.

**

If there’s one thing that’s changed about Tunny from the kid Will grew up with, it’s that he’s focused. He’d always been the practical one, the one who could be counted on to get the keg deposits back when Johnny decided it was time to entertain the multitudes, but Tunny’d never been _sharp_ before. He’d never been the one with the plan, because he’d never had any need to. Probably wouldn't have been allowed to if he'd tried.

There’s no telling now whether to credit his new outlook to the Army, or rehab, or just the fact of finally being a goddamn grown-up out in a world that doesn't revolve around Johnny. There’s a gap in Will’s knowledge of Tunny, a few months that're maybe enough to outweigh more than ten years. It's something that Will had never expected, like all of _this_ is something he'd never expected, and he’s still unsure of his right to fill in the spaces.

It's hard to tell, because Tunny's still the same dude, mostly, not a big talker. But there've been a few times, now, that Tunny’s come up with a fucking _strategy_ to get shit done, to fucking reorganize his life and blaze a trail to two, five, ten years out, that just blows Will’s mind. Not that that'd take much; not that Will’d ever been much of a planner.

Maybe he's not qualified to judge what's exceptional, but he knows enough to know that Tunny still feels way out of his league. Maybe they're not even playing the same game, but he wants them to be, with the way Tunny's looking at him.

Will closes his eyes again, and tries to focus again on the way his body is reacting, and that little something in his mind is maybe processing what he thinks about it. Maybe this was a crime of opportunity. Maybe, because Will is a lazy bastard and he was still passed the fuck out, Tunny went out to get breakfast and when he got back he decided to have some fun with the guy he’d left sleeping in his bed. Or _maybe_ he’d been thinking about this last night after Will fell asleep, about how they had the whole day free with fuck-all to do. Maybe he’d been thinking about it all week. Maybe he’s got, like, a list, a fucking plan that's all about Will, like some sort of sex ninja shit.

He hadn’t known this was something Tunny wanted, but then until a few minutes ago, he also hadn't known that he was a heavy enough sleeper that someone could fucking tie him up without waking him.

So what if Tunny's a bit hard to read? He can keep whatever he wants locked inside his head, but the idea of all that planning, focused on _Will_? It’s sort of amazing, and sexy, and powerful, to feel like the center of someone’s world like that. It’s way the hell better than feeling like his life and all of his relationships are defined by a series of dumb fucking accidents and missed opportunities.

Of course, it’s also possible that Tunny just tied him up to be a dickhead. There’s really only one way to find out.

**

When Will opens his eyes again, Tunny’s still leaning patiently against the dresser, watching him with that same bare hint of a smirk. “So, what?” Will says. “Planning on keeping me tied up so you can torture me by eating breakfast without me?” His stomach gurgles again in punctuation, and he swallows the saliva welling in his mouth. The way that Tunny smiles so suddenly at that is... it's stunning. Part of having totally put his emo poetry years behind him means that Will isn't going to turn into a puddle every time his boyfriend smiles at him, but Tunny's not exactly making that easy. He blames it on being turned on and confused and hungry and still only half-awake, rather than on the fact that he is head-over-fucking-heels in love with the fucker who’s apparently stealing his clothes and holding him prisoner in his own bedroom.

“No,” Tunny says. “I thought I’d torture you by eating breakfast _with_ you.” He tosses the bag onto the bed, where it rolls to rest against Will’s side, and it’s still warm, so Tunny hasn’t been back long. It begs the question of whether Tunny’d tied him up before he left, or after he got back. The trip to the drive-through and back takes about twenty minutes most days. Will can’t be sure, but he doesn’t think Tunny would have risked letting him wake up alone like that if he'd tied him up first.

Unless he just did it to be a dickhead.

As he’d guessed, there was a tray with two coffees in it hiding behind Tunny, and those go on the bedside table to Will’s left before Tunny sits down on the bed.

Will wiggles his fingers, and looks up at his wrists while Tunny's settling himself, but he can’t tell what’s wrapped around them other than it’s some sort of white fabric. Could be a pillowcase or maybe a shirt, probably something that was laying on the floor. There's a lot of shit laying on the floor; it's not like he'd be able to tell what's missing, like those fucking find-the-difference picture puzzles books they used to take on family vacations.

Tunny strips his - Will's - shirt off, abandoning it to the mess on the carpet. “It’s hot as balls outside already,” he says. “Ninety degrees in the shade, not that there’s any shade.” His chest is flushed and damp with sweat, and Will would have to be a much stronger man to resist the urge to lick it. Of course, since he’s tied to the fucking bed, he just has to lie there and wait to see what else the show has to offer.

Will’d already figured they were going to be there for a while, and the thought’s confirmed when Tunny unhooks his prosthesis and props it up next to the bed so that he can slide over and sit next to Will, facing him without uncooperative hardware in the way. He runs his thumb down Will’s chest, stopping a couple inches shy of where the sheet is doing an ever-worse job of hiding Will's junk. The touch tickles a bit until he spreads his hand across Will’s stomach. In the context of morning and food and Tunny being fully clothed, it could have been another tease about the breakfast, but Tunny stretches his fingers and they slide down under the sheet to tease about something else entirely. Will’s hips twitch without his permission and Tunny’s fingers slide a little further, and it's a little bit hot and a lot frustrating. One of his fingers strokes lightly, just below Will's waist, and just for a second.

It’s not enough to be even a little bit satisfying, and of this was any random night on the couch and Tunny tried to pull that shit, Will would just move Tunny's hand where he wanted it, but now Tunny pulls his hand back, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. Will just closes his eyes and then groans in undifferentiated frustration when he hears Tunny open up the paper bag, and then Tunny sets two McMuffins in their greasy yellow wrappers on his chest.

“You get to choose,” Tunny says, like he's being _courteous_. “Food first, or sex.” Considering that Will knows Tunny had at least a couple of hash browns, if not a whole sandwich, on the way home in the car, the way that he picks up stroking Will’s hip as he asks is definitely cheating. Will's kitchen and Tunny's bottomless pit of a stomach are old friends, and there's no way he's been awake for more than 20 minutes and not eaten anything.

It’s also possible that this is an elaborate setup to get Will to suck him off, because the next thing Tunny says is, “I know it’s not exactly strawberries and whipped cream in bed,” Tunny says, “but you know you need some protein if you’re going to keep your strength up.” Will raises an eyebrow in response, and Tunny just looks back at him for a second, and then he fucking blushes. It will never stop being hilarious that Tunny can be embarrassed by accidental innuendo, as dirty as his mouth is under normal circumstances. “Oh, fuck you,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, you cocksucker.”

**

The fact that he actually stops to think about it, that anything stands up against the possibility of fucking, that probably says something about getting old that he really doesn't want to consider. It's just, the longer he sits there, the longer he just _is_ , talking shit with Tunny, the less that little voice in his head is complaining. Like maybe it's okay if he's tied to the bed, and it's okay if he's not. Like this is just one more thing that he and Tunny _do_ , that it's who they are now, it's not just fucking, that they can still spring all manner of random shit on each other, that they can just roll with it.

"If I say food, are you going to untie me?" Tunny looks up above Will's head to his wrists, and Will wiggles his fingers. "Like you said, it's not exactly strawberries and whipped cream."

Tunny looks like he's still seriously considering something, but there's no telling if he's three steps back or twenty steps ahead. "Do you want me to untie you?"

Will shrugs as best he can. "Dunno. Maybe."

"Do you trust me?" Tunny asks, and even though the only time he's heard anyone say that, it's ended in death in a B movie, Will nods.


End file.
